


An Evening's Entertainment

by GenerallyHuxurious (GallifreyanOmnishambles)



Series: Modern Emperors [12]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: AU Crossover, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Flirting, Boredom, Broken Bones, Canon Hux Tries His Best, Car Accidents, Confusion, Cultural Differences, Electrocution, Fist Fights, Flirting, Gambling, Huxcest, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mistaken Identity, Modern Assassins, Multiple Selves, Murder Husbands, Play Fighting, Poisoning, Self-cest, Sexual Frustration, Stabbing, Well Not An ACCIDENT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 23:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11300775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GallifreyanOmnishambles/pseuds/GenerallyHuxurious
Summary: Two versions of Hux, one city, four hours, four targets to be assassinated. One of their targets is 'The Other Hux'. Who will win?This is why Hux should NEVER be allowed to be bored...





	An Evening's Entertainment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fedaykin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fedaykin/gifts).



> For Fedaykin on their birthday. A million years of gratitude for letting my Hux join yours in Seattle, he's never been happier.

 

Hux was bored. 

Boredom wasn’t an emotion that came naturally to him. It sat at the back of his brain, prickling at his nerves. 

He needed to do something. 

Something… different.

He lay on his back in the middle of their bed with his head hanging over the foot of the mattress.

Beyond the windows Seattle glowed with early evening lights, a tempting playground waiting just a ferry ride away. 

Hmmmm…

* * *

Hux was bored.

Petty little men posturing about their petty little plans had dragged this meeting out at least an hour more than necessary. He was about ready to scream with irritation. There was no universe in which  _ this _ was a good use of his time.

He had promised that he would sit through the entire session, but he just couldn’t concentrate any longer. 

Like a gift from the place that stands opposite to heaven his phone buzzed with a certain familiar ringtone. 

He hadn’t bid on any job recently, and he wasn’t out for hire. So who was texting him the details of a target?

Ignoring the irritated looks of those board members who didn’t know about his other occupation, Hux flipped over his phone and glanced at the screen. 

Four names. No price. Not interested…

He read the fourth name again. 

It read ‘The Other Hux’.

* * *

 

The wardrobes stood open. The dressing room was in disarray.  

He knew where his instincts wanted him to go, but the venues would be so varied that sartorial vanity had to give way to pragmatism. Something neutral, understated, innocuous. 

He reached for the grey Armani suit.

In the bedroom his phone rang. He ignored it.

* * *

A timer had appeared in the corner of his phone screen. He had no idea how to get rid of it. There was no way to cancel it. In fact it didn’t seem to relate to any app actually on his phone.

The digits counted down second by second, a meaningless irritation that demanded attention for no reason he could determine.

Four hours. Until what?

Four targets. Four hours.

A challenge then. Was the fourth name a prize or a threat?

He didn’t like where this was going and  _ he _ wasn’t picking up.

The elevator pinged for the parking garage. Hux didn’t run to the car, it wouldn’t be a good idea to run, not when someone might be watching. Not when he didn’t know what was at stake.

* * *

A DJ, a small business owner, a priest, and  _ him _ .

The DJ was easy enough to find. There were half a dozen Facebook pages chattering excitedly about his appearance at a nightclub Hux was more than familiar with. In a few hours they’d be chattering in an entirely different way. A shame really, he was quite a talented young man.

The business owner proved to be a little more challenging. There was a listing for a large home somewhere in the far distant suburbs, but she didn’t seem to live there any more. 

Six months earlier her Instagram feed had gone from comfortable domestic photos with a similarly comfortable looking wife and a few kids, to artfully crafted shots of luxury locations with someone at least half the wife’s age. Hux glanced at the recent photos again. Maybe not that young, but parts of her certainly weren’t old enough to drive.

Hux called the company. The person he reached sounded as bored as he’d felt an hour ago. An intern maybe who’d drawn the short straw and been left manning the phones while everyone else went home early to make the most of their friday night. 

It didn’t take much to get the boy on side. 

Hux presented himself the shipping manager of company that urgently needed to get a  _ special _ parcel to the boss before the end of the day, or there’d be hell to pay. The poor intern, already suffering, stuck in the office, all alone, and now there was this awkward job to deal with too. 

If he just told the nice man on the phone where the boss might be, then it’d all be taken care of, the boss would get her special delivery, and no one would be fired for entirely unjust reasons. 

Sixty seconds later Hux had every detail of the woman’s friday night routine. Thank the stars for workplace gossips. They were the same everywhere.

The priest might prove a bit more difficult. He didn’t have the cultural knowledge to navigate this one without assistance.

* * *

Irish Catholic priest? Simple. Or it should have been. Google Maps insisted the church wasn’t even there any more.

Thanisson was giving him a strange look. 

This particular job had sat uncompleted on the books for weeks. At first the optics suggested that the local assassins were reluctant to take out a man of the cloth, which was frankly bullshit, but a closer look at the ledger showed that the original- and very small- original price had been recently scrubbed out.

Whoever the priest was, he wasn’t worth much at all. 

“Well? Are going to get this intel for me or not?” Hux said over his shoulder in irritation as he tried to decide on the proper clothes. Hmmm. The gray Armani would do. 

“Again?”

“What?” Hux turned around properly and watched Thanisson’s eyes skitter nervously across his face and down to his hands. Mitaka had taught the staff that, even though he was the only one who could reliably tell the difference between them just by one’s slightly withered pinky finger.

“I gave it to you on the phone. An hour ago.”

Oh. So.  _ He _ wasn’t just a target. He was in on it. 

Fear melted out of his heart to be replaced by something hotter than mere irritation. 

They usually warned one another before a game was set in motion. They usually planned weeks ahead to create the best possible hunt. 

There was something to be said for spontaneity though. 

He far preferred to properly research the targets but even on such short notice he would have the advantage of years lived in the city. Seattle was his world. He would win.

* * *

Hux strode past the queue of eager patrons towards the waiting bouncers. They knew him. This was his world, as much as anywhere could be.

His fingers brushed along the ridiculous faux velvet rope and he felt others reach out briefly to touch his- thick and calloused, soft and delicate, dramatic nails and heavy rings. So much choice, though he had no intention of partaking tonight. 

He knew what fingers he wanted to feel tonight, he knew them like his own. Technically they  _ were _ his own. Right down to the fingerprints.

But, he thought as he winked to Jeremiah and let a suggestive hand trail over the bouncer’s ass on his way past, all this potential attention could prove a little useful.

* * *

The nightclub was heaving, the air filled with sweat and beer and sex and just a hint of human desperation. Let me not think for a while. Let me not feel. Let me feel too much. Let me not feel alone. Let me remember. Let me forget. Let me have something.

Hux moved through the crowd like a fish through reeds, oblivious for the moment to the writhing bodies pressed close to his own. He had a beer dangling from one hand for color but paid it little attention. He had no wish to drink here. Not so early in the night.

Crowds were often the easiest places to assassinate someone. The press of bodies, the obscured view, the multiple escape routes, the human nature of panic once the death was noticed. Yes crowds like this could be very useful.

They were not so useful when the target itself was standing on a fucking plinth in the middle of the room with no fewer than six spotlights on him. 

It wouldn’t have been so difficult if there hadn’t been a ban on gun use in the details of the commission. 

Hux knew the building. There were plenty of accessible gantries and lighting rigs that he could have reached from the roof. With the right clothes and the right gun he could have shot the target and been well on his way to the next one by now.

But that wouldn’t count.

* * *

The death had to look accidental.

No doubt whoever had made the commission had some kind of insurance on the man’s life that wouldn’t pay out in suspicious circumstances.

Hux paused to stare at the ceiling. He swayed with the music, his face gone slack like a man entering the first haze of chemical intoxication. 

No, the roof wouldn’t do. There were plenty of lighting rigs that would cause a great deal of damage if they fell. But the DJ stood at the centre of a ring of lights. Unless Hux somehow made it swing as it fell, it wouldn’t hit him at all.

Something warm and firm brushed his crotch.

Hux lowered his head to find a slim, pretty creature dancing deliberately in front of him with their ass invitingly presented.

He grinned and grabbed the creature by the waist to pull them closer. He didn’t notice their gender, or anything else but the dance. He kept their body facing away, though he kissed them as they moved. 

His pockets were full so early in the evening, and he had no wish for wandering hands to stray where they shouldn’t.

Still, the crowd separated for this pair of overeager lovers and they were soon grinding together braced against the DJ’s platform. 

It was solidly built, not temporary scaffolding but a concrete and steel permanent structure. 

Although the DJ stood on an open grid the holes were too narrow to be of much use, and a tangle of wires blocked much of the view.

Apart from the esoteric looking electrical rig for the DJ’s artform and a stack of club branded water bottles there wasn’t much of anything up there. 

Hux kissed his companion’s neck while he tried to formulate a plan. There were a number of heavy chains in the way. The unpleasant taste of silver polish was far too distracting.

* * *

Poison wasn’t exactly his weapon of choice. It rarely, if ever, produced the kind of death that made his heart sing. Mostly it just produced vomit and too many unanswered questions.

But here were several thousands souls willingly poisoning themselves in the name of having a good time. 

Hux could see from here that the DJ was getting through water like a man in a desert. He might well have taken something already. In which case it would only take a nudge to push his target from ‘pleasantly buzzed’ to ‘conveniently dead’.

A gold coin, a whisper, and an unexpectedly requested kiss given to the right person at the bar got him a branded bottle of water, properly sealed and containing enough MDMA to kill a horse. Slightly more than a nudge then, but at least it would be effective.

Now he just needed to switch it for the one at the top of the DJ’s stack.

There was a flash like New Year’s fireworks and a bang that left his ears aching. 

He froze in place and stared at the after images seared across his vision. 

At first he was concerned the explosion had left him deaf but he soon realised that the music had stopped, and the sparkling after images were all he could see because all the lights were out.

Most of the lights. 

Something was on fire on the DJ’s podium. 

No, two things. One on the pedestal and one underneath.

It was as if the crowd woke up as one great mass and ran screaming for the exits. When the floor began to clear Hux realised the ‘things’ on fire were the DJ, and some poor unfortunate concertgoer who had apparently fallen into the wiring beneath the podium. 

In his pocket his phone vibrated.

There was no originating number. Just the word ‘one’ beneath the timer.

* * *

Silver is an excellent conductor. The human body much less so. But then it didn’t need to be.

The gold coin slipped to the manager would keep investigations to a minimum, but the DJ’s shoddy wiring had been bizarre enough that no one would notice the changes he’d made. Of course just a single short shouldn’t have caused so much devastation. The club really should have thought of that before they illegally tapped into the power grid without the proper safety provisions.

Sometimes these things were just too easy.

He almost stopped when he passed his double on his way out of the building. Judging by the discomforted fluttering of his Likeness’ golden eyelashes he must have been staring right at the DJ when the flash happened. 

It was so tempting to press a kiss to his lips in the dark before he left.

But  _ he _ was fast, and although the order of the targets was implied it wasn’t specified as necessary to the game. 

If he caught him it would all be over.

It wouldn’t do to end the game too soon.

* * *

The scent of electrical fire lingered in his nostrils even after he’d joined the evacuation and used the cover of his dull grey clothing to slip into the early evening streets.

It would be a minute or two before the fire department arrived at the scene. 

Hux had better places to be. 

The business owner or the priest?

* * *

Hux glanced at his phone and the timer ticking away in the corner.

If his information was correct it’d be at least forty five minutes before the woman and her new lover left the evening spa. 

Although the spa was geographically closest, the event they were attending was women only. Hux had no particular wish to draw attention himself. Certainly not amongst the wealthy clientele of that particular establishment.

It was a difficult thing, running into someone they knew socially just after a kill. He never knew quite what to say.

So, the priest then.

Thanisson had said he wasn’t a high value target for precisely the reason he was a target at all. 

He’d robbed the diocese blind to pay for his gambling habit.

That was an understatement. 

The priest hadn’t just stolen the collection plate or redirected the charitable funds for hungry orphans. Oh no.

He’d sold the church.

It wasn’t exactly clear  _ how  _ he’d done in, but one morning the congregation had woken up to find the grounds enclosed with new fencing and the building half demolished. No one knew where the contents had gone.

Now a sensible man in that position would have taken the earnings of their sin and run off to some distant island. Not that anyone would ever truly get away from an organisation as big as the Catholic church.

But the priest had not been a sensible man. He’d just returned to the backroom gambling circuit that had put him in debt in the first place. He wouldn’t be hard to find, for someone who could make their way into such places. The women who’d taken out the contract on him couldn’t. She was far too devout to step into a den of inequity. 

Of course the Catholic church itself wouldn’t ever take out a hit on someone. Hux had always assumed they had their own guys for that. No, according to Thanisson this woman was actually the cleaner for a local small time mobster, and had also been the cleaner at the church. For three decades. She’d taken the selling of the building as a personal insult and an affront against god. 

So she’d sold her car to pay for the contract. 

Hux had been mildly surprised that Phasma had accepted it. Apparently the woman’s boss had put in a word for her, if not any actual funds. 

Until now no one had actually wanted the job. The priest was still burning through his ill gotten money at the poker tables. Why kill the golden goose before it stops laying?

Hux had been walking for a full two minutes before he finally registered what was wrong with the streets around him. 

All the lights were out. 

Alarms were dimly blaring inside a few buildings- security systems protesting the loss of power- while patrons filed out of restaurants and other businesses grumbling just as much at the darkness. 

Perhaps he’d underestimated exactly how bad the wiring had been between the club and the power grid.

A flash of white drew his eye across the street and Hux realised exactly where he was. 

He was just outside the spa.

* * *

All the streetlights were out and every building for at least five blocks stood in darkness.

Just ahead of him a knot of women wearing little more than fluffy white robes and angry expressions were blocking the sidewalk. By the dull orange glow of a lighter Hux recognised the second target pacing irritably at the edge of the group.

He hadn’t needed to do much research on her. They’d known each other once, in his wilder years before the Forever City job- long before Auren had changed his world in a thousand different ways. She’d been part of a group vaguely in The Piett’s orbit. Drawn to the money and the influence but unaware of the real work that went on there. Her wife on the other hand…

Breaking that woman’s heart was a mistake she wasn’t going to survive.

Hux dragged a hand over his face, mussing his artfully arranged hair as he staggered slightly into the wall. His jacket hung half slack off his shoulders. He was hyperventilating. His gloved hands were shaking until he almost couldn’t keep a grip on the water bottle.

“Huxy?! Holy shit I haven’t seen you in years!”

Oh god, that fucking name. He slumped against the wall as the target hurried over to him. 

Her face was a mixture of concern about him and disgust at crossing the sidewalk barefoot. She walked like a cat crossing a snowy garden, all tiptoes and deliberately calculated steps. Which meant she wasn’t really paying attention to him. Or her surroundings.

No one else noticed her leaving the group. He’d spotted her new girlfriend smoking petulantly at least ten feet further away from the rest. She had her back turned like someone who wants the world to know they’re sulking. Good.

“Oh my god, you look awful,” she gasped once she’d crouched down to peer at his face. “Are you okay?!”

The question was asked with the gleeful tone of a gossip looking for something juicy. 

“Th… there was an explosion…” He stammered, quietly enough that she’d have to lean closer. “Oh god, people died.”

“What? Where?!”

She looked around wildly as if the dark street were somehow hiding something more exciting than irritated crowds. 

“At the club.” He pointed back the way he’d come. “Something happened to the DJ… there was a bang and then half the building was on fire, we just… just ran… I couldn’t stay there, it was just… oh god.”

Hux covered his face with his hands, letting his shoulders shake with exaggerated distress while he fought the urge to laugh at his exaggerations. This woman would never know it hadn’t been nearly so dramatic. 

He let his body slump further to one side, which turned him away from the group and forced her to follow him if she wanted to hear the rest of what he was saying.

“I… I think the DJ was electrocuted.”

“Whoa, really? Is that why everything’s out?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Or the fire… God, what a horrible way to die.” Hux sniffed and scrubbed at his face. “I was going to go back to the Piett. It isn’t far. The backup generator will be on, and… and I think I need a drink.”

She was looking back at the group through the corner of her eye while he struggled to stand upright. He could see her thoughts flickering across her face. She’d had some kind of argument with her girlfriend. She was stuck on the sidewalk in just a robe. She was barefoot and cold and irritated and she had no idea how long the situation would last. She could probably do with a drink too.

Distant sirens were getting louder. They seemed to come from every direction at once.

Hux stumbled. She caught him under the arms to steady him, then looped one of his arms around her shoulder.

“The hotel sounds like a great idea. Let’s go.” It was impulsive but the promise of alcohol, warmth, and a way to annoy her girlfriend was enough to tempt her away. 

Hux was many things to many people, but back in the day she and her friends had always thought of him as safe. Her wife had made sure she never learned any better.

Now that he had her separated from the group he wasn’t entirely sure of his next move. It was rare for him to work quite so impulsively.

As his mind whirled through the options he clung to her while they staggered around the corner. It was easy to keep her physically off balance since she was still walking on tiptoe to protect her barefeet, and her concentration on her footing kept her distracted.

He chattered nervously to her like a man in shock. 

Another wave of sirens approaching.

There were two high sided vans parked on their left. The vehicles’ bulk obscure their view of the road.

Hux stopped abruptly and muttered something vague about the smoke making his throat dry. 

The bottle was fumbled between artfully nervous fingers. 

She moved to help him but the bottle fell. He kicked it when he tried to catch it and it rolled away. 

He stumbled after it, but she was faster.

In the dark, without the glow of shops and streetlamps, it was hard to judge the streets. If you hadn’t spent years learning how.

The trio of police cars passed him half a second after she stepped into the road with her eyes focused on the bottle.

A series of thumps and a squeal of tires told him everything he needed to know. 

He wasn’t looking. He’d spotted the redhead watching him across the street.

Hux signed ‘one’ to his Likeness, then turned towards the shouting. 

Four police officers stood around the middle car, flashlights focused on the body embedded in the windshield. They’d been travelling fast and she’d been thrown from one car to the next. 

“Hey, yo…” An officer began. He cut himself off when a flashlight beam settled on Hux’ face. When he spoke next his entire demeanor shifted. “Oh, hey Hux…”

“Hey, Patrick.” Hux held out his hand to shake. A coin was concealed against his palm. A moment later it was gone.

“You see anything here?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“You working tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m just… on my way to something else.” He said, his eyes slipping back to where his Likeness still stood in the shadows across the street. “Keeping busy, you know.” 

Hux saw the man follow his gaze and swallow hard. “Okay then.”

“Have a good night, Patrick.”

With a rude noise and a wave of one hand Patrick walked back towards the flashing lights.

* * *

What the frell kind of luck was that? He’d had found the second target entirely by chance and dispatched her in minutes with barely any effort.

Hux saw his Likeness make a smug signal and paused for a moment to update the app. The timer continued to count down, the word ‘even’ glowing beneath it.

* * *

He should have been able to see his Likeness ahead of him in the street since they were both headed for the same address, but the anxious crowds were oddly lacking the familiar redheaded figure.

This was the fastest route to their destination. Had he gotten confused? Or did he have information Hux didn’t?

* * *

Hux hurried through the silent empty streets.

He’d let himself get irritated and this place always calmed him. There was something about a good decent roof above his head that set his mind in its proper place. 

Few people came down here. A tour group once a night, a few miscreants like himself seeking a hidden path through the city, and the occasional hipster with a headlamp looking for a mundane kind of thrill.

Seattle sat on the coast and the original settlers hadn’t had the foresight to raise the streets above flood level until the city was already established. By the time they’d seen sense it had been necessary to close off the ground floors of many buildings and create raised walk ways above them. The process had created a series of tunnels that ran directly beneath the streets of the modern city. Some even had the old storefronts still in place. 

Hux liked it. It reminded him of a home he no longer mourned but occasionally missed. The muffled purr of the cars above sounded a little like distant engines. It was easy to think here.

Besides, he could run here and no one would see him. If his Likeness stayed above ground he’d have to walk.

* * *

A streetcar had conveniently stopped right across a junction and put the whole area around the park into gridlock.

Hux ran through the crowds with his phone pressed to his ear and no one paid him the slightest bit of attention. 

Look like you have somewhere urgent to be and no one will care.

The bar had been closed for a while now. No one had needed yet another fusion food and cocktails place in a city already teeming with them. But the building was conveniently central. The tree lined street offered more cover than most places and the tunnels beneath the sidewalks meant an easy way to avoid the police.

He rolled his eyes at the realisation. Of course that was how his Likeness would get here. 

As if on cue he spotted a splash of orange though the leaves.

* * *

Jorge was a poet. Possibly one of the best in the state. He was a thoughtful considered man, slow to anger and quick to forgive.

None of which were expected traits in the heavily built doorman of a illegal gambling establishment. But those traits were also the reason he was still alive at almost fifty in an industry that rarely had muscle that reached forty. 

He saw Hux approaching nonchalantly along the alleyway to his left, and he saw Hux approaching nonchalantly along the alleyway to his right. 

He’d heard rumours that it was possible to tell them apart using various unlikely tricks, but he didn’t see why it would matter which was which. When two jaguars were hunting you the only important thing was not to die.

It was his job to keep the riffraff out. It wasn’t his job, in Jorge’s opinion, to try to stop the lightning. When someone like Hux came for you, well that was the will of god. When both of them came for you, that was the will of someone much worse. 

Now some folks would block the door, and those folks would get shot. And some would run inside and lock the door. Which would just delay the whole getting shot thing by about three minutes while they found another way inside, only they’d be angry by then so it would probably hurt more.

The best folks, Jorge’s kind of folks, would throw the door open, shout ‘good evening Mr Hux’ and immediately vacate the area. It was time to get a new job anyway.

* * *

The bar had just been a front, a tiny little space carved out of the building in a way that made it seem bigger than it was to thus hide the rabbit warren of rooms that sprawled through all four storeys.

It seemed that the management here were used to power cuts. It had been business as usual until Hux arrived. They’d just lit the halls with hanging storm lanterns that swayed and threw up weird shadows amongst the fleeing patrons. 

Hux wondered how many people thought he was here for them. He stuck close to the walls, watching for anyone dumb enough to try to fight in such an enclosed space.

* * *

Hux followed the wall as he climbed the stairwell, reducing any line of sight from the landings above.

A squeal of unoiled hinges alerted him to a door opening in front of him. A trembling hand poked through holding a gun. The safety was still on. 

He almost felt bad about kicking the door and breaking the man’s wrist. 

* * *

Hux dodged easily when a plastic table was flung haphazardly down the corridor at him. Three women ran on, apparently pleased with their attack, but he ignored them.

The room they’d come out of looked empty at first glance, but a second look revealed a slightly familiar man chained to the wall by his wrists. He was wearing a ballgag. And a fox tail that Hux strongly suspected was attached to a plug. Embarrassed but imploring eyes rolled at him. 

Hux nodded. “Senator Datoo. Nice night for it.”

He could still hear the muffled screams of protest even after he closed the door and walked away. Someone would get him out of there eventually.  

* * *

The barman was long gone. So were all the patrons. All but one. The man in front of him was just too drunk and full of cocaine to realise that discretion was the better part of valour.

He was looking for a fight and a fight had arrived just in time for the narcotics in his blood to bring it to a proper boil. 

Hux sidestepped when the man gave a melodramatic roar before rushing him. He was all muscle in the way of bodybuilders- not for strength, just for show- and he had about as much grace as a sack of wet cement. 

With a flick of his arm Hux caught up a chair and brought it down on the man’s shoulders. The man seemed to have watched one too many action movies. He tensed his back and seemed surprised when the chair failed to shatter but drove him toward the floor instead. 

A second blow split the man’s scalp. The third failed to land. The man had managed to gather what wits he had left and grab the chair. He’d also grabbed a bottle from the floor. 

If he’d chosen to hit Hux with the whole bottle he might have been in with a chance. But he chose to pause and smash it on the edge of the table instead.

“Lets fuck up that pretty fa… ARGH!!” Hux didn’t bother to let him get the whole threat out before he stamped down on the man’s fist. 

Breaking the base of the bottle had weakened the neck. The man was no longer holding a weapon. Just a handful of broken glass.

While he was busy clutching his hand and screaming Hux grabbed his collar and hauled him toward the bar.

* * *

A miscalculation.

This room was filled with mobsters. They hadn’t moved from their seats but thirteen guns were now trained on his face.

“Hux. You should knock.” The speaker had the thick accent of an Irishman decades out of the old country but unwilling to change.

“My bad.” Hux said, raising his empty hands in supplication. Somewhere down the hall there was a sound like cascading glass and a scream. 

“That’d better not have been the barman.”

“A good barman would know better.”

“True… Who’re you here for?” 

Hux considered his answer for a moment before he spotted the faded UVF tattoo on the man’s wrist. He’d have no sympathy for the target then.

“The priest.”

The atmosphere instantly warmed. 

“Ah that nasty little gobshite.” He spat before pointing left. “That way.”

Hux nodded. His blades dropped from his wrist holsters again when he headed back out into the hall.

* * *

Three people were fighting in the doorway, all flailing elbows and fists hindered by handfuls of chips and loose bank notes. They didn’t notice him.

In the room beyond he could just see a skinny black clad figure trying to fill his pockets with the money that was scattered across the floor. Grabbing the money before you ran was something most people would try to do, as the three in the doorway proved, but the priest was trying to get all of it. Even the small change. 

Hux watched the miniature brawl with amusement for a moment or two, until a familiar footfall on the stairs behind him reminded him of the job at hand. 

He reached into the struggling mass and tugged. One of the women squealed in the process, but the whole tangle of idiots fell passed him, out of the doorway and onto the stairs. 

He heard a clipped voice snap out “Oh fuck you!” as his Likeness dodged away from the tumbling mess. 

The priest looked up. 

The priest ran. 

With a grin Hux ran after. 

* * *

The corridors were narrow and twisting. Years ago someone had added thin fiberboard divisions between rooms to make the layout intentionally confusing. It was certainly effective.

After only a few strides his Likeness drew level, jostling him against the wall.

Hux swore and swung himself out at the next doorframe to block the other’s path. They almost fell, hands grabbing none too gently at hips and shoulders as they fought for advantage.

Ahead of them the priest ran on with his cassock flapping awkwardly around his legs. 

He’d sold a fucking church! He must have been excommunicated by now. Why the hell was he still wearing his cassock?!

Perhaps he’d sold all his clothes to keep gambling.

The priest turned and dived through a window the fire escape. An errant breeze revealed that he definitely didn’t own any other clothes. 

Hux couldn’t help it. He started laughing as his ran. 

Behind and to the left of him he heard his Likeness catch the mirth as well, that strange halting laugh of pure amusement that always sounded so odd to anyone but them.

The fire escape creaked alarmingly as the priest climbed, but didn’t they all? Hux maintained three points of contact with the stairs nevertheless- he’d fallen from a collapsing fire escape once before. Never again. 

At the next level the priest tripped on the hem of his long cassock and collapsed through the window.

A flash of silver flew past his left eye. 

The priest tried to struggle to his feet but the thrown knife was just visible between his ankles where it held his cassock pinned to the window frame.

They both leapt at the same moment. 

* * *

Blade on blade was a sensation that always set his teeth on edge.

It was somehow worse with flesh in between. 

He could feel the awkward friction of the steel as a vibration up his arm that only increased when the body between them went slack. 

Hux stared at Hux across the priest’s shoulder. His blade was in the target’s heart. But then so was  _ his _ .

Blue eyes flashed as his Likeness grinned. “A tie then.”

Auren sat back, tugging his knife neatly from the body and wiping the blade on an edge of the cassock.

“No.”

“No? You got one, I got one, I doubt there’s a security feed in here for a photo finish so- this one is a tie. No winner.”

“This one, yes. There’s still all to play for though.”

“Wait, wha…”

* * *

Eamon tumbled backwards when Auren sprang.

He hadn’t time to retrieve his knife, but then he had blades to spare in his pockets. He just didn’t particularly want to need them.

The kiss was all demanding teeth and sharply gripping fingers. 

Good. He loved a struggle for dominance. 

He kissed back as ferociously as he could while his hands sought the best possible point of leverage.

* * *

They rolled, legs tangling together as hands pulled at hair and clothes and flesh. A playfight of the kind that might still leave them a little bloody when teeth and nails were too enthusiastic.

“I thought the list was a threat to kill you,” Hux murmured when he caught a decent grip on his Likeness’ collar and tore it enough to kiss along his throat.

“Phasma said you might think that.”

“Phasma?”

“I was bored. I wanted to play.” A thigh pressed up between his own and made thought difficult for a moment. “I figured it would be more entertaining if neither of us chose.” 

“She chose to put me… us on a list to kill?”

“Oh no.” They rolled again, slightly soft thighs pinning muscular hips in a way he didn’t want to process. “I thought of that. Inspired by that Francian thing you said the other night.”

The man on top of him was rolling his hips in the most wonderful way and nipping so perfectly at his collarbone but he just couldn’t let it go. “Francian?”

Plump lips paused against his skin. “Francian, Francese, you know what I mean.”

“I really don’t.”

Green eyes blinked down at him in irritation as his Likeness sat up. “You said the Francish called sex the ‘small kill’.”

If Auren had looked irritated before he looked livid when Eamon lost control of the laugh building his throat. He couldn’t help the belly laugh that shook his whole frame and forced Auren to grab his wrists for support or risk being thrown off.

“Oh my god. You mean ‘French’ for both the people  _ and  _ the language, and you mean ‘la petite mort’ for the…”

There was a thunk above his head as Auren drove a knife through the cuffs of Eamon’s shirt and into the floor. 

“You prick!”

“This isn’t over. Catch me if you can,” Auren muttered against his ear before he vanished into the night.

He really shouldn't have laughed.


End file.
